


hey boy, take a look at me

by weakspots



Series: camboy!verse [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Bottom Shane Madej, Boys in Skirts, Butt Plugs, Camboy! Shane, Collars, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Feminization, Gender Issues, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Panties, Pet Names, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Riding, Ryan Bergara Is a Dumbass: The Fic, Secrets, Sex Toys, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, gratuitous overuse of em dashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakspots/pseuds/weakspots
Summary: Ryan is 27, for Christ’s sake, and he’s not exactly hideous, so there’s really no reason to spend his money on a dude — adude— whose face he’ll never see but whose livestreams he’s been jerking off to for roughly 4 months now. He should be going out and partying and fucking random chicks. Or a guy, whatever, just to get it out of his system and confirm to himself that he really is 100% straight.Because he is. This is morbid curiosity, if anything.





	1. you want a part of me (well, i'm not selling cheap)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is, he doesn’t smoke. He barely drinks. Hell, his X-Box has been untouched for months, collecting dust under his rarely-used TV. Maybe this is his weird addiction. It’s better than weed, right?

_LakersFan1 joined!_

(10:32pm) **Guest 4** : Wish I could fuck u lol

(10:32pm) **centaur123** : Can you do a house tour? Is that a weird thing to ask?

(10:33pm) **Guest 28** : love that hole.. marry me

(10:33pm) **centaur123** : For real though I want to see your toy drawer so I don’t buy you something you already own.

(10:34pm) **centaur123** : You’re not gonna reply to me? Okay. Fuck you.

_centaur123 left._

(10:35pm) **guyfromdc** : Ok like Im straight but holy shit

_Chat has been muted._

— 🎀 — 

Look, Ryan’s not gonna lie to himself.

This whole thing is kind of weird.

First of all, he’s not gay. Not even close. He’s never really been interested in a guy. Never darted his eyes across abs in the locker room at the gym, never stared at a dude’s ass in the club or anything. Not even when he was drunk. He doesn’t… think of men like that. No, Ryan likes women. He likes their curves and how soft they are and how they smell. Likes feeling them under him. Well, on top of him, too. Anywhere. The softness. For fear of sounding like a sexist asshole or whatever, the submissiveness that comes with them. Fragile wrists and smooth hair. A sway of hips, a giggly laugh.

And yet.

_pink_princess92 is now live!_

Ryan sighs, turns his brain off, and clicks the little arrow symbol that lets him enter the chatroom.

— 🎀 — 

If he had to psychoanalyze himself and explain what exactly draws him to this, he’d say it’s the anonymity of it all. The guy’s careful to hide his face, be it in his livestreams or his paid videos, never letting anyone see more than a glimpse of his mouth when he sucks on his fingers, a hint of blushed cheeks, sometimes.

There’s discussion among his "fans" — and Ryan thinks it’s so odd that someone like this can actually have a solid fanbase, but then again, Ryan, the hypocrite, probably counts as one of them — that maybe he’s disfigured. That his face all burned up in a freak accident. Someone claims to have seen a Chelsea smile, and Ryan couldn’t stop thinking about it when he edited the Black Dahlia video, though he firmly believes the theory is bullshit. Some people suspect he’s someone famous who’s just doing this for fun. Someone else claims they swear they saw him shopping at a Target in LA, recognizing him by his long legs, and that he had a "normal, yet huge" face.

Ryan thinks that maybe pink_princess92 just doesn’t want any of these weirdos to find and stalk him.

While the stream is loading, back to psychoanalysing himself.

It’s definitely the anonymity, not just pink_princess92’s, but his own — he’s nobody here but a username, a small donation, a video suggestion. A gift on the guy’s Amazon wishlist, every once in a while, ‘cause he likes getting that personalized little "Thanks, honey! – S" message. Whatever S means. Ryan’s tried to find out, just for fun, but the guy is careful about concealing his identity.

The more he thinks about it, the more pathetic he feels, which is why he rarely lets himself dwell on this whole thing. He’s 27, for Christ’s sake, and he’s not exactly hideous, so there’s really no reason to spend his money on a dude — a _dude —_  whose face he’ll never see but whose livestreams he’s been jerking off to for roughly 4 months now. He should be going out and partying and fucking random chicks. Or a guy, whatever, just to get it out of his system and confirm to himself that he really is 100% straight.

Because he is. This is morbid curiosity, if anything.

On his laptop screen, pink_princess92 is finally in frame, stretching those long, long legs out, leaning back against some giant pink, soft pillows on his lilywhite bed sheets.

He’s wearing something lavender and lacy and see-through and Ryan’s dick is weeping already.

The thing is, he doesn’t smoke. He barely drinks. Hell, his X-Box has been untouched for months, collecting dust under his rarely-used TV. Maybe this is his weird addiction. It’s better than weed, right?

pink_princess92 runs a well-manicured, but still very male hand over his dick through his lace underwear and Ryan stops thinking altogether, stops looking for ways to justify himself. God, a guy shouldn’t be allowed to have such pretty fingers, especially considering the places he puts them.

He kind of has a nice dick, too. Ryan is man enough to admit that.

He never thought he’d be the type to enjoy this type of thing. He was never even really into porn — too fake, too fabricated, the women never really into it, the men mostly hideous. He did appreciate some of the amateur stuff, which somehow led him to solo girl stuff, which somehow led him to solo guy stuff. (He doesn’t remember, but it was probably a misclick.)

(Yeah. Definitely a misclick.)

Which somehow led him here, on a Wednesday night, taking his dick in his hand the exact moment the guy on the screen does it, too, his headphones crackling when he turns the volume up on his laptop so that maybe, hopefully, he can catch a soft moan. He’s never heard the guy speak and he doesn’t expect him to but the way he whines when he gets three fingers inside of him is enough to last Ryan for days.

Besides, hearing him talk would probably make everything feel way too real.

The guy brings his hand up to his mouth to spit in it and Ryan’s throat is dry. He contemplates getting a glass of water, but he doesn’t want to miss the show, doesn’t want to miss any movement on screen **—** the way the guy brings his hand around his dick again, slicks himself up a little, slow, languid, giving everybody what they paid for.

It’s a two hour stream and Ryan usually barely lasts 30 minutes but he still stays the whole time.

 **Play with your tits, honey?** someone types in the public chat, and the guy obeys after he receives his $5 donation from _dickpig14_. Not immediately, mind you, he just smiles all soft and brings his left hand up to his chest, fingers mindlessly traveling over his sternum, touching over his neck, putting on a show. There’s a fading hickey on his clavicle and more on his thighs and Ryan’s mouth feels like it’s full of canine teeth.

He’s itchy underneath his skin as he watches a pale hand pinch a nipple, and he knows that no matter how many Wednesday nights he spends here, with his dick in his hand and a lump in his throat, that it’s something he can’t scratch, nothing he can cure, not unless he somehow finds a way to reach into his laptop screen and pull this boy out and fuck him senseless. That, or simply cancelling his subscription. He feels like maybe that would be the best option.

He stays, though.

He always does.

 

* * *

 

He really doesn't need the money. Sure, it doesn't hurt, but getting into camming again wasn’t done out of desperation or anything. Mostly vanity and boredom. His last breakup around a year ago had left Shane with a broken heart and a mighty need for revenge after being cheated on. Posting his ex boyfriend’s nudes hadn’t been something he was particularly interested in, mostly because this wasn’t high school, and he also isn’t exactly the criminal type. No, he's above those things.

It got him thinking, though, about his own nudes, and how he had financed his way through college years ago.

It had been a mere coincidence, on a rainy afternoon in 2006, Shane bored out of his mind, scrolling through the amateur category on the ol’ trustworthy -hub instead of studying for an upcoming exam, looking for something to catch his eye, when the solution to his financial troubles flashed, bright pink and obnoxious, on his screen.

**ARE YOU A SLUT? – JOIN NOW!**

**HOST YOUR OWN SHOWS! – POST PICZ AND VIDZ!**

**OVER 2 MILLION USERS! – SAFE AND DISCREET!**

**!!! JOIN NOW !!!**

He had chuckled to himself and clicked on the bright red X in the corner, but it turned out to be one of those evil, sneaky pop-ups that instead of going away opened in a new tab, forcing him to look at everything BOYCAMZ had to offer on full screen. And so he had found himself staring at an abundance of men, or rather, boys, mostly twinks, some undressed, some in boxers. There was one in girly underwear, staring right at him, lips painted pink and obscenely parted. Something held him back from moving his mouse to the X this time, and he allowed himself a second to take it all in.

A thought wormed itself into his brain, strange, but persistent, and it wouldn't allow him to think of anything else, because…

_That could be me._

Obviously, this website was a scam for sure, otherwise they wouldn’t advertise this way, but there had to be others, right? Legit ones? Ones that made good money? Ones that could actually help him get through college without having to stand behind a counter every single afternoon, serving spoiled, bored-looking brats, bagging pre-ripped jeans and not even being allowed a real break?

There’d been a steady thrum in his chest, some sort of giddy, horny excitement, and he had spent the next hour researching cam websites, wide-eyed and restless, only letting himself jerk off once.

He didn’t sign up for an account that night, but he took a deep breath and turned on his shitty webcam, angled it to he could see himself, from his mouth to his waist, on his screen. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he offered a shy wave to the camera, an awkward laugh stuck in his throat, but still, he thought to himself… _I could do this._

_I could really do this._

He had quit his retail job the following day and walked out the door with a smile, headed towards the nearest tech store.

— 🎀 — 

Despite purchasing a pretty good camera, his first stream on the least-sketchy website he could find went just about as horrible as one would expect. Out of frame and out of focus, with shaky, nervous hands that could barely get himself off, the whole thing was kind of an atrocity on every possible level, and he almost deleted his account right after.

Not like his eleven viewers and two subscribers, one of which was most definitely a bot, would have cared.

But Shane Alexander Madej was not a quitter. Well, unless it came to his retail job, or every romantic relationship he’s ever had, or that sculpting course he had taken up a few months earlier. Big deal, whatever.

So he spent a few hours watching amateur videos and streams — purely for research, of course — writing down ideas and cataloguing possible poses, making a yes and no list of things he was willing to do on screen for now. (The _yes_ , he noticed, was way longer than the _no_ , but hey. Desperate times call for desperate measures.) Finally ordered some boxers that didn’t have embarrassing cartoon patterns on them.

And a single pair of white lace panties. Just in case.

— 🎀 — 

The second attempt had gone much more smoothly.

A few dozen viewers this time, some anonymous and some with usernames, and he had ignored the more extreme, nasty requests and focused on the gentler ones, _suck on those pretty fingers for me, play with yourself,_ that sort of deal. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it. Though the shot was cut off just below his nose, his reddened cheeks were very apparent, and probably endearing enough to earn him his first real money.

He was fucking thrilled.

— 🎀 — 

He ended up doing it three nights a week, and with every show he put on, the more he found himself drawn to it.

It was a huge boost for his confidence, actually, despite the jarring comments his faceless clients threw at him — or maybe _because_ of them. Being told what to do and how to do it was way hotter than he anticipated, which he filed away as one of the many new things he’d learned about himself throughout this entire ordeal.

He had deleted his account once he graduated and started an internship at an actual company, a little scared of being found out one day, and shoved the mostly pleasant memories to the back of his mind.

If only as to not be reminded of how much he would miss the attention that came with it.

 

* * *

 

So here he finds himself again, over ten years later, with a new account on a new website but with a similar modus operandi. Shane Madej, aka pink_princess92, 40,000 followers and rising. Turns out that things really haven’t changed and all you need for online NSFW fame is a decent camera, a knack for exhibitionism, and a drawer full of goodies, mostly paid for by the kind hearted single men of… wherever. Well, married with kids, some of them. That’s not really his problem.

The size of his dick helps with the viewers, too, though most of his fans know he's way more into receiving than giving. He figures maybe that’s part of the appeal.

It’s almost comical how easily he falls into it again. After a brief settling-in-period and learning how to navigate the new site and all of its fancy new features, it’s like he never stopped doing this. His face and body are obviously not as youthful as they were when he was 20 and his competition is young, pretty and ever-growing, but he doesn’t really look his age anyways, so changing his birth year from 1986 to 1992 on his profile was only fair.

Doing it for money in college had been fun enough, but doing it with the finances being a subsidiary matter makes it even better. There's also something about doing this while being in the spotlight now that makes his skin crawl in the best way, something about someone, somewhere, somehow realizing he's that guy from Buzzfeed but also that guy who spends two hours every Wednesday night naked on a computer screen.

If humiliation and voyeurism weren't already heart shaped bullet points on his _yes_ list, he'd add them.

His streams are cheap and he’d feel bad about even having his wishlist public considering he could get everything himself, but people were practically begging to buy him stuff.

He’s not really sure he gets it, but he’s pretty glad he can make men happy by wearing thigh highs they spent money on.

— 🎀 — 

What he obviously didn’t expect was for one of his most eager viewers and most generous donors to turn out to be someone he saw at the office almost every single day.

He didn’t want to believe it at first. It's not like he kept track of his subscribers, there’s too many of them out there and he doesn’t really care who watches him as long as they continue doing so, but the guy had sent him gifts off his wishlist three separate times now, always with a note that read something cheesy and strangely adorable like, _have fun with this princess! ur huge fan lakersfan1 ☺_

The LakersFan1 thing made him laugh out loud the first time he read it, if only because it reminded him so much of Ryan, but it made all the color leave his face when he saw that the Amazon pop up actually read, _gift from Ryan S. Bergara._

Yeah, Ryan hadn’t even tried to conceal his identity or anything. Well, obviously, because — and this is when it dawned on him — he actually had no fucking idea it was Shane he was watching.

His unfairly attractive and allegedly totally straight coworker was apparently not only subscribed to his premium stream package, but also sending him sweet messages and occasionally bullet vibrators without even knowing who he was gifting them to, and Shane had absolutely no clue how to handle it.

Sure, his first instinct had been to tell him, if only to save them both the embarrassment. 

Then again, what would the point of that be? Lose one of his favorite, most generous subscribers who showered him in compliments at any chance he got? And not only that, he also, obviously, stood the chance of losing one of the best friends he’d ever had. And what for? To expose him and make Ryan, who had once completely unironically uttered the words "No homo" under his breath when hugging Shane at his own birthday party and who was clearly going through some kind of sexuality crisis, dig himself even further into denial? The guy regularly got terrified of the wind and creaking floorboards, God only knows how he would react if Shane held a mirror to his homoerotic tendencies.

...Not to mention that sitting down next to Ryan every Thursday morning, knowing fully damn well he had logged into his stream at exactly 10pm the night before and beat his dick raw to him kind of does things to Shane. 

Yeah, all in due time.

Ryan’s secret is safe with him for now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic title: **queer** by garbage.  
>  chapter title: **celebrity skin** by hole.  
>  fic playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=34GIZ1iCTYOGEsMiTfWN4A).  
> kudos, comments, constructive criticism, etc are always very much appreciated. thank you! <3


	2. i'll chew you up and i'll spit you out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t even understand why he’s so nervous. It’s not like he’s going on a date or anything — Ryan would _never_ go on a date with a guy, thank you very much — and pink_princess92 won’t even see him. Yeah, he can just have a completely normal chat with the guy, watch him come into his panties, and call it a night. It’s not that weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to chapter 1 was overwhelming. thank you all very much.

He doesn’t really know where he is or how he got here, but there’s lights everywhere. Pink and blue, orange and purple all around him, above him. There’s a drink in his hand. It’s blue, but that might just be the lighting in the club,  _yeah_ , this is a club, some gay club he’s been to before. He’s wearing something mildly inappropriate, but he doesn’t really care about that. His drink tastes like pineapple and coconut when he takes a sip and Ryan’s by his side all of a sudden, his own drink in hand. He didn’t know Ryan went to gay clubs, but he’s not too surprised, either.

 _Dream_ , Shane thinks, dumbfounded, somewhere beneath the surface of the loud beat throbbing in his ears,  _I’m dreaming._

Ryan grins at him as if they’re sharing a secret, and maybe they are. His face is flushed like he’s embarrassed, or like he’s been dancing, maybe. His hair is messy, too, strands of it falling into his face, and all Shane wants to do is run his fingers through it, make it even messier — but he doesn’t really dare to.  _Stop being such a fucking coward_ , he thinks, briefly,  _it’s a dream. You can do whatever you want in here._

He reaches out and stops halfway when Dream-Ryan speaks, Shane’s hand hovering uselessly in the air in front of his face. "Hey," he says, basically whispering, but Shane can still hear him over the music. He blames dream logic for that one. "Shane."

Shane just stares and stares.

"Shane, wake up, I  _heard_ something," Ryan hisses.

An elbow is jabbed into Shane’s ribs so hard he yelps, and then he’s awake.

He panics for a second, disoriented and ripped from the warm comfort of his dream, of Ryan in those lights, eyes trying to adjust (and poorly so, without his glasses on and all) while a flashlight is being waved around the otherwise pitch-black room. He’s lying on his back on the floor, in a sleeping bag.

Spiderwebs. Hardwood floors. Ryan’s frantic breathing. They’re filming. Some axe-murder house. Got it.

"Did you hear that?"

Ryan looks as sleepy as Shane feels, his hair even messier than it was in Shane’s dream. He’s wearing his glasses, which always makes him look younger, more vulnerable. Very kissable, too, which is a thought Shane shoves aside for now.

"What time is it? No. I did not."

"Well, I did." Ryan checks his phone, squinting at his too-bright screen. "It’s around 3."

Shane sighs. "It’s an old house, Ry. You know, floorboards creak... It’s windy outside."

"Yeah, but…"

"When did those murders happen again? The 1800s?"

"It was 1912, and… I just. I  _heard_ something."

"...You wanna go check it out?"

"Um. Obviously,  _no_ , but… yeah, I guess? Hey, maybe we catch something on camera."

Ryan doesn’t sound too enthusiastic or as if he even believes in his own bullshit anymore, but Shane kind of gets his desire to go check it out, at least. It’d be nice to get some sort of footage, if only of a raccoon going through the garbage, or whatever else the source of the noise was. If there even was a noise. This house, so far, had been a complete letdown.

Well, not a letdown for Shane. Can’t really be disappointed if you didn’t expect anything great from the start, which is his rule for paranormal investigations, and also his rule for hooking up with guys who didn’t want to send him a dick pic first.

"You wanna go wake up the guys and Devon for this?"

Ryan snorts. "You wanna die?"

It makes Shane laugh, but Ryan has a point. The last time they had woken up their crew for late night ghost hunting shenanigans, Ryan had gotten the nearest thing TJ could grab thrown at him, which had been his alarm clock. It had nearly missed his head, too. Motherfucker is dangerous when he’s sleepy.

"I’ll text 'em that we're out, though. When they wake up tomorrow — well, today, whatever — and we're not back yet, at least they’ll know we’ve been murdered by some axe-wielding ghouls."

He lowers his voice for the last part, making it sound as mockingly sinister as he possibly can. Ryan just sighs, the exact reaction Shane predicted, which makes it funnier. "Hilarious. Do you even listen to anything I say? Why would the  _ghosts_ wield an axe, Shane? The  _murdered_ people are haunting this place, not the person who killed them, I told you… Oh, whatever. Stop grinning at me like that, you prick."

— 🎀 —

They don’t find any ghouls and the spirit box stays silent, save for the headache-inducing white noise and a random sound that Ryan  _insists_ was a woman’s voice saying something unintelligible.  _I swear, Shane, you’ll definitely hear it on the footage, it’s evidence, we’ll enhance it._

They do get some shaky footage of Ryan looking scared and calling Shane a piece of shit for tugging on his hair, though, so that’s a win.

 

* * *

 

Home, after a shoot, never really feels like home. His apartment is too big all of a sudden, too empty. Sharing the space with so many people while shooting gets comfortable. Sure, it’s nice to fall asleep in your own bed after spending the night before in an abandoned asylum or the place of a massacre, but still.

Shane’s never really been an introvert, he likes being around people, likes the attention, at least, and when he gets home and the door closes behind him with a loud thud, he sighs.

It’s part of why he took up the camming gig again. As stupid as it may sound, nothing makes him feel less lonely than reading his messages, seeing the amounts of gifts he racks in when he hasn’t been online in a few days, as if he needed a bribe to come back.

He dumps his bags on the living room floor and after a well-deserved hot shower, he flops down onto his bed, opens the camsite app on his phone, and reads through his messages.

He ignores the ones that are obviously spam and also the ones that just say  _[image]_  in the preview (they’re dick pics. Every single time, they’re dick pics.) (They’re never nice dicks, either.) and scrolls until he gets to usernames he recognizes, guys he replies to every once in a while. It’s nice to have regulars.

 _You have_ ** _7_** _unread messages from_ **_LakersFan1_ ** _!_

Well, that’s a new one.

(4:57am) **LakersFan1:**  Just laying here thinking about you….. Im not gay or anything but I just wanna fuck you so bad

(4:58am) **LakersFan1** : I really missed u tonight

(5:00am)  **LakersFan1** : Saw you didnt have a stream anyways which is fate i guess, i couldnt have watched it.. was kinda bummed out haha. Dont want to miss that !

(5:00am)  **LakersFan1** : See u next week?

(5:13am)  **LakersFan1** : Actually you know what

(5:13am)  **LakersFan1** : I would like to book a private chat maybe this weekend if ur free? Like maybe 10pm saturday. Like around an hour. Nothing special just wanna have u all for myself. _☺_

(5:14am)  **LakersFan1** : See u then baby girl <3 ?

Shane feels himself swallow, hard, reading the messages over and over again.

5am today. So when they came back from looking for ghosts this morning and Ryan had turned over in his sleeping bag, maybe three feet away from Shane, he had used the shitty reception in a fucking axe murder house to tell his favorite camboy how much he missed him.

And call him fucking  _baby girl_.

Ryan really flocks to the feminine stuff, and Shane can’t tell if it’s a kink thing or if it’s because that way, he can convince himself that the stuff he’s saying isn’t that gay, but he doesn’t care that much. Either way, it makes his heart race in the best way — there’s always been something strangely comforting about being referred to as feminine, being treated like he’s small and dainty, treated like something to be held and kissed softly but also fucked into the mattress until he’s whining.

He’s never given it  _too_ much thought — he has trans friends, and this isn’t like that, he’s pretty confident in his gender. It’s just that he likes to wear pretty things every once in a while, and sometimes a guy telling him he wants to eat his pussy makes him get off more than anything else.

Especially if the guy is supposedly straight as an arrow.

It’s whatever.

Ryan... is a far bigger problem.

He  _has_ to tell him. Soon. Maybe during the private chat, though the chances of that backfiring are astronomical.

Still better than Ryan finding out by himself, though.

The only other option, which is becoming more and more tempting by the second, is changing his name and moving to Norway and keeping elks or something. No internet reception, either, because that seems to be the crutch of all of his problems.

Shane types a response, sighs as he presses send, and drifts off without meaning to into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

(9:20pm)  **p** **ink_princess92** : hi! saturday 10 sounds great. i can’t wait!! you already know how payment and stuff works. i’ll send you my discount code, just cause it’s you. want me to wear anything special for you? or do you want it to be a surprise? ;) see you then. ♡

— 🎀 —

Ryan is fucked.

— 🎀 —

He doesn’t even understand why he’s so nervous. It’s not like he’s going on a date or anything — Ryan would  _never_  go on a date with a guy, thank you very much — and pink_princess92 won’t even  _see_ him. Yeah, he can just have a completely normal chat with the guy, watch him come into his panties, and call it a night. It’s not that weird.

— 🎀 —

He’s been here since 9:45, the screen is still black, and Ryan is starving.

Saturday had approached at snail pace and at the same time way too quickly. He had panicked on Friday afternoon and almost copped out of it at the last minute, considered writing pink_princess92 a message about how his cat died or something and letting him keep the money (and adding a generous tip, probably, for wasting his time.)

He even asked Shane if he wanted to go out, have a couple drinks, maybe at that Tiki bar they’ve been to a few times — dude has been looking a little out of it for the past few weeks, and it would’ve been nice to cheer him up. Ryan really likes making him smile, and he could’ve used the distraction if he really bailed on pink_princess92.

Sadly, Shane just blinked at him for a few seconds when he asked him, then sort of frowned and told him he had a date on Saturday night before turning back to his screen, clearing his throat.

Ryan didn’t want to ask anyone else, so here he is.

Would be a shame to waste the 80 bucks, anyways.

— 🎀 —

(10:01pm) **LakersFan1** : U there?

(10:01pm) **pink_princess92** : hi! just setting up <3 see u in a sec honey!

After another moment, the stream comes to life, pixels readjusting and the image on screen getting clearer. Ryan’s stomach drops the second he can see what the guy is wearing.

He’s got a baby blue collar around his neck, O-ring at the front and all, but that’s not the worst part. No, the thing that makes every rational thought in Ryan’s brain disintegrate is the fact that he’s wearing something Ryan ordered for him a few weeks ago — underwear that’s sinful because of how  _innocent_ it looks, pretty white panties with turquoise hearts all over them, lace at the hem, the whole deal. He can make out the outline of the guy’s half-hard dick in them, but he decides to concentrate on his long, long fingers instead, slowly trailing over his waistband, his little tummy that Ryan finds so oddly endearing.

That’s a way less gay thing to focus on.

(10:05pm) **LakersFan1** : You look soo pretty for me princess.

Ryan swears he can hear him chuckle in response, a soft, tender sound, but maybe that’s just his own brain making shit up. The guy leans forward to type his response.

(10:06pm) ****pink_princess92**** : you’re the sweetest ever! you have any suggestions for now or should i just start my show? you can obviously send suggestions throughout, i’ll be looking at the screen :) but anything special for now?

(10:07pm) **LakersFan1:** Hmmmm. Did what i ordered for you the other day arrive already?

The guy’s lipgloss-wet lips pull into a smile and he rummages around in his bedside drawer for a second, giving Ryan a nice view of his ass in those panties, before getting out the glass dildo he had splurged almost 50 bucks on. The fact that he immediately knows what Ryan was talking about — that he knew it was him who ordered it, even though he probably gets a shitton of gifts — makes him feel way too warm for someone who’s got his dick in his hand already.

Like maybe he’s someone special.

(10:08pm) ****pink_princess92**** : this one? :) i love it!

Christ, this is already worth every fucking cent.

The toy gets abandoned on his sheets but well, they’ve got the whole hour to get back to it. For now, the guy turns around, pushing his underwear aside a little, showing Ryan the goods.

It’s an excruciatingly gay thought, but Ryan’s not sure he's ever seen such a pretty asshole. Hell, he didn't think there  _was_ such a thing as a pretty asshole, but it’s a pink to drown in, so perfect he wants his mouth on it. The guy spends a few more moments just gently rubbing himself, hands stroking up and down his inner thighs, kneading his ass and just generally teasing his one-man audience before he sits up, reaching for the squirt bottle of lube on his nightstand.

He coats those long, long fingers, propped up on his knees as he reaches around the back, shoving his underwear aside and whining a little as he pushes two fingers inside of himself immediately. The angle makes it so Ryan can see the bottom of his face, still, his lips parting with a soft sigh and the lighting is just good enough that the blush spreading across his cheeks is visible.

Before long, the guy is rocking back against his fingers, making all sorts of sweet noises. He’s louder than usual, groaning a little when he removes them again after a few minutes that feel like hours, spreading his cheeks to show Ryan (and  _only_ Ryan, God, he’s almost forgotten that he’s the only one here, that this is just for him) how open he is, his hole fluttering.

Ryan feels halfway ruined by the time the guy finally slicks up the glass toy he got for him. He could swear he can see him smile, and it almost undoes him.

The thing isn’t disproportionately large or anything, definitely not the most intimidating in the guy’s collection, but it’s still so much bigger than his fingers. He’s so tight it doesn't even breach him at first, but when it does, his hole sucks it in eagerly. Ryan can see every millimeter as it slides in, every tug and twitch of the guy's soft, pale skin and he tightens his grip on his own aching hard-on, mimicking how tight he imagines that perfect ass must be.   

Ryan’s never been so in love.

The guy arches his back as he settles all the way back, gasping at how full he must feel. He stays like that, the fake dick buried deep inside of him as he rolls his hips in little circles, letting out a shameless moan. They’re barely half an hour in but God, Ryan can’t possibly last any longer, not with this visual, not with the guy fucking himself on something Ryan got for him, so fucking pretty and open just for him.

He doesn’t want to miss a single second of this, but his eyes close involuntarily as his own movements on his dick speed up, and he suppresses a groan as he comes all over his fist, biting his lip so hard he can taste copper.

His vision is swimming at the edges, his throat dry.

He types a message to Pink_Princess92 and after another minute of lazily fucking himself on his toy, he turns around, obviously intrigued by the notification sound.

God, Ryan wishes he could see his face. Just once, so he can have a clearer image to jerk off to.

The guy reads his message and smiles, wipes his sticky hand on his sheets and starts typing a response.

(10:28pm) **pink_princess92** : that was quick, im flattered ;p u wanna stay and watch a little? maybe i can get another one out of you?

Ryan can’t remember ever coming twice in a row ever since he was a teenager, but hell, he paid for this. He’d probably transfer his entire life savings into this guy’s account to continue watching him.

He wipes himself down as good as he can and leans back in his chair, settling in for round 2.

— 🎀 —

He comes a second time at 11pm sharp to the guy on screen tugging at his collar while playing with his dick, and he really,  _really_ can’t be mad about being proven wrong.

 

* * *

 

 _You have_ ** _3_** _unread messages from **p**_ ** _ **i** nk_princess92_ ** _!_

(11:05pm) **pink_princess92** : hi, i would’ve loved for you to stay longer! you wouldn’t have to pay obviously. but i have someone else watching at 11:30 and i gotta get cleaned up a little ;) but, um...

(11:05pm) **pink_princess92** : i have a suggestion. it’s not something i usually do but i guess i really like you, and i trust you.

(11:06pm) **pink_princess92** : i’d like to give you my number, if that’s okay. :)

Ryan’s brain is mush and his knees are weak, and not just because he just came all over his fist. He scrambles to answer, a little slow because he has to use his left hand.

(11:12pm) **LakersFan1:**  Sure. Haha thats great I like you lots too B)

He might actually die.

The guy sends him a sparkle heart emoji in response, and then his number. It’s got a Los Angeles area code, which makes Ryan’s heart soar a little, knowing he’s so fucking close to him.

(11:15pm)  **pink_princess92** : see you around! and drop me a text sometime :)

He smiles at the message, strangely content, suddenly. Fuck it, maybe he  _will_ go on a date with a guy.

Just, you know, an ‘ol, regular date, see an action movie, drive the guy home, have a beer with him, fuck him silly, and then return to his perfectly mundane, heterosexual lifestyle. It’s like skydiving, or seeing the aurora lights. You gotta do it once, just for the experience, but then your quota is filled and you’re-  

His whole stomach turns over the second he’s done frantically typing the number into his contacts list.

_Number already taken._

It’s Shane.

He shakes his head and laughs to himself, because what a silly coincidence it would be that Shane has almost the same number as his favorite camboy, and that Ryan, post-orgasm haze, would make the exact typo that would lead to this.

He double checks the number the guy sent him.

_It’s Shane._

But there’s no way. There’s just no way.

No way has Ryan spent hundreds of dollars on his fucking coworker and friend.

No way has Ryan called his fucking coworker and friend princess and angel and fucking  _baby girl_.

No way has Ryan told his fucking coworker and friend how much he wants to come on his face and down his throat and in his ass and God, literally everywhere.

No way has Ryan dried cum sticking to his happy trail and thighs right now because of his fucking coworker and friend.

Except, apparently he does.

He waits for the ground to open up and swallow him whole and when it doesn’t, he waits for a camera crew hidden in his closet to come up to him and yell "Pranked!" or something equally stupid, he waits for literally  _anything_ to happen.

But nothing does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops. shane is a messy bitch who lives for drama and so am i.
> 
> chapter title: **bubblegum bitch** by marina and the diamonds, because, uh, _of course_.  
>  fic playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=34GIZ1iCTYOGEsMiTfWN4A).  
> the haunted house the boys visit at the beginning is the [villisca axe murder house](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villisca_axe_murders). i hope they never actually go there on the show, because i'll have a stroke or something.
> 
> kudos and feedback are as always welcome. ☺


	3. i've got to find you (before the line is lost)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Ryan ignores him or anything. No, ignoring would be one thing. It’s the pretentious _not_ -ignoring that drives Shane absolutely crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE GOT ART! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> my friend [lee](https://www.instagram.com/gonblet) drew something for this and it's perfect and amazing and i kind of love it more than anything in the whole world. i'll post it at the end of this chapter!!

A guy walks into a bar.

There’s no punchline, except that the guy will chat up a girl, take the girl home, and half an hour later, the girl will leave in an Uber paid for by the guy, who’s mumbling his apologies. He’s babbling, face flushed, about having had a stressful day, and he’s _so_ sorry, really, this has _never_ happened to him, and she smiles and says it’s fine.

When he asks for her number, she pretends she didn’t hear it, and off she goes.

Ryan figures he can’t really blame her. Why bother with some dude who can’t even get it up?

 

* * *

 

**@LakersFan1**

_Profile not found._

_This account does not exist or has been deactivated._

_For more information, visit our_ Help _page._

— 🎀 —

Ryan doesn’t text him. Ryan doesn’t call him.

Ryan walks into the office on Monday morning, sets Shane’s Low-Fat Frappuccino down on his desk, mutters a greeting, and sits down next to him, taking a sip of his own brew and not looking at Shane at all.

Huh.

— 🎀 —

It’s the opposite of what Shane wanted — he didn’t know what to expect, but he expected _something_. Just any sort of reaction from Ryan that wasn’t denial, something that showed that this whole thing was clearly weighing on his mind and maybe destroying him emotionally.

To be entirely honest, he had this absurd fantasy in his head that maybe, Ryan had suspected it all along. That he had put 2 + 2 together at one point — because honestly, Shane hadn’t tried _too_ hard to conceal who he was, not to LakersFan1 — but continued watching despite, or because of it, and he was just waiting for Shane to come clean.

Or at the very least, that he had been nursing some sort of crush on Shane anyways, so finding out that things were the way they were wouldn’t be a huge problem. In this particular bizarro version of reality, Ryan would simply hit up his number with a fuckboy-esque “Hey” and the winking emoji, or better yet, the smirking one, and they’d hook up within a week.

But of course that’s not what happens. No, what happens is… absolutely nothing.

It’s not that Ryan ignores him or anything. No, ignoring would be one thing. It’s the pretentious _not_ -ignoring that drives Shane absolutely crazy, because Ryan talks to him (but less than usual) and Ryan laughs at his jokes (but more reserved than usual) and when Shane reaches out on Friday during their last Postmortem of the season to smooth out a wrinkle in Ryan’s shirt, Ryan flinches like Shane just strangled his puppy and is now trying to touch Ryan with his treacherous, puppy-strangling hands.

Yeah, that moment most likely won’t make the final cut.

Ryan stays reserved the rest of the day, just like he’s been the entire week, and Shane is _really_ not looking forward to having to deal with that later at their customary end-of-season party.

Except he is.

Oh, he is.

 

* * *

 

His Uber driver is blasting some whiny rock song that might be Nickelback and probably isn’t, and Ryan feels a little sick.

It’s a warm August night but his hands are clammy, and his mind keeps flashing back to… to whatever the hell just happened.

He can’t really piece everything together — he probably _could_ , if he wasn’t actively avoiding thinking about the details, and also trying not to throw up from a dangerous combination of jello shots, the giant potholes in the street the Uber driver isn’t avoiding for some reason, and repressed not-so-straight urges.

All he knows is that the second he arrived at the location their crew had agreed to meet up at for drinks, TJ had come up to him, TJ, of all people, to ask him where the hell Shane was, “aren’t you guys, like, conjoined at the hip, where the fuck is he, can’t you text him, he won’t reply to me, what if he slipped in the shower and died” and Ryan had given him a look that felt sour and probably was, but at least it shut TJ right up.

To be honest, he was glad Shane wasn’t there yet. He could finally relax a little, take a couple deep of breaths without constantly being reminded of whatever his dick was into that his brain couldn’t comprehend. He had sat down at a table with Mark and Devon, taking obligatory pictures of the little ghost-shaped sandwiches some kind soul had made for them, and then started drinking.

A lot.

The next thing he remembers is coming back from the bathroom after going for a leak (and maybe fixing his hair, and certainly not because Shane had texted him that he was on the way, thanks. There were girls in that bar, too. Ryan saw, like, at least two of them.) and coming back to Shane already sitting on his chair, raising his brows at him as he walked over there.

Ryan had decided to play it cool, because they were friends, right? Maybe his heart was racing, but hey, he _had_ done a lot of shots, and also he was just happy to see his friend, and certainly not about to have a panic attack because he had watched said friend put a lot of things inside of him.

No, things were normal. It was fine.

Except then _someone_ had made a joke about how there weren’t any chairs anymore, and how Ryan would have to sit in Shane’s lap, I’ll snap a pic, guys, for the fans, and Shane had laughed, his face flushed and pretty.

Well, pretty drunk, not _pretty_.

Anyways, he remembers Shane saying that no, no, it was fine, he would stand, c’mon, you can sit, Ryan, and as soon as Ryan had sat down, Shane had slid into his lap, warm and drunk and everything one would want in their lap, if they were into that, which Ryan certainly wasn’t.

He _does_ remember a camera flash going off, most definitely, but that was secondary, everything feeling like it was underwater because Shane was just sitting on him now, with Ryan’s hands on his hips for some reason, and hell, _maybe_ Shane was rubbing himself against him a little, and Ryan was only one man, and drunk nonetheless, and friction is friction, and everything he remembers after that was a blur, certainly, him babbling something about how oh, my Uber’s outside, didn’t I tell you Jake’s got a thing tomorrow, I really need to go, uh, so I don’t oversleep, gotta get my _Uber_ , you know.

He had stood outside for half an hour, but at least he was out of there, and now, at least, he was in a moving car, feeling like a serial offender fleeing the scene of a crime.

Hell, in a way, he is.

— 🎀 —

He is woken up by his phone ringing. At first he thinks it’s his alarm, and judging by the sun already high in the sky, he is _way_ late to work.

Except it promptly dawns on him that’s it’s Saturday, his mouth tastes like garbage, _something_ happened last night, and Shane, of all people, is calling him, and whatever he wants to talk about, Ryan is _so_ not ready for this conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Good morning to you, too. How’s it going?"

“Uh. Don’t know. You just woke me up. Why are you calling?”

He sounds way more aggressive than he wants to, can’t remember ever talking to Shane like this, but also, what the hell.

"Wow. Uh, guess I’ll get right to the point, then." Shane sounds way more smug than actually upset by Ryan’s tone, which Ryan doesn’t know how to interpret. So he doesn’t. "You check Instagram today?"

"You just woke me up, man."

"Alright. So, uh, TJ posted a pic of us? He took one last night. Don’t know if you remember that. If you don’t, then don’t, uh, don’t freak out when you see it. It was all PG-13. Anyways, people are really loving it. Like, uh, _loving_ it, Ryan. I haven’t been tagged in the same picture this many times since I was an actual meme."

TJ.

Picture.

Oh, mother of God.

"He posted that?!"

"It’s _Teej_."

"Yeah, but…"

"But what, Ryan? We’re friends, right? What’s so horrible about a picture of two friends just, being friends? Or should we talk about this right now?"

Ryan groans, rubbing his left hand over his face, ready to go back to sleep for 5 more hours, or maybe just fucking hibernate for a few months. "I just woke up. Can I at least get coffee before you yell at me?"

On the other end of the line, Shane laughs. Ryan can picture him so well like this, sitting on his couch, his hair messy, his face still soft from sleep — he’s seen it before, on a morning after one of their movie nights. Shane clad in boxers and an oversized T-shirt, smiling at Ryan over the rim of his coffee mug, and Ryan getting that warm, cozy feeling in his belly. From the coffee, of course.

Except that maybe, right now, Shane’s on that infamous bed of his instead, sprawled out on his sheets and wearing slutty underwear, and Ryan will never know.

"I’m not gonna _yell_ at you," Shane says, sounding slightly amused, which is simply _infuriating_ , "I’m just saying, you know. You sound pretty upset considering how happy you were yesterday."

"Happy? I left early. I called an Uber!"

"Oh, you left early because I got your fucking dick hard, and you know it."

The words hit Ryan like a sucker punch, and he tries to say something, but he doesn’t know what, and it comes out as air, a hasty little breath he almost chokes on. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of anything that isn’t the hazy memory of Shane’s bony hips under his hands.

A moment passes. He opens his eyes again, watches dust dance around his room in the sun.

"Did you hang up?"

Ryan clears his throat. "I’m still here."

"Great. So I figure you don’t wanna talk about this? Okay. How have you been doing, then? I mean, we’re best friends, and you don’t talk to me, so I can only assume you’re doing great. Is that so? How _are_ you, Ryan?"

He’s so fucking tired of this, of Shane acting like he has an ounce of an idea of what he’s even talking about. "You know what, Shane, thanks for asking. You wanna know how I’ve been doing? Well, the other night — the night after I found out it was you, actually — I picked up a girl, and I couldn’t even fucking get it up. Is that what you wanna hear? That the only thing that can get me off anymore, apparently, is…"

 _You_.

"…Me?"

"I wasn’t gonna say that."

"Mh-hmm. Okay. What _gets_ you off, then, Ryan? I got a list, you know, but maybe I’m wrong."

The words hang heavy in the air, and Ryan desperately wants to hang up, wants to just ignore all this and wait for it to be over, for Shane to get tired of it, but he can’t find the willpower to give him the satisfaction. This didn’t feel like a game before, but right now, it seems like Shane is winning, and Ryan can’t let him have that.

He also maybe likes hearing Shane’s voice, but that’s secondary.

He doesn’t answer, and Shane’s voice is surprisingly soft when he says, "Hey, honestly, what are you so scared of, Ry?"

He closes his eyes again. "I don’t know. Uh, not waking up from anesthesia. Demons. Ghosts."

"I _know_ you’re scared of air, Ryan. I meant more, like, concerning the whole gay thing. It’s 2018. Like, so what if you jack it to a guy?! We work for Buzzfeed, in case you forgot. People would probably be more surprised if you were actually 100% straight like you claim."

He sighs. " _Claim_? I’m just not… I thought nobody would find out. It was just a thing, but now it’s a… _thing_."

"Doesn’t have to be a _bad_ thing."

"Are you for real?"

"Yeah. Ryan, just… just let it be a _thing_ , you know. Just, whatever. You like watching me, and you _know_ you like watching me, and apparently you like me sitting in your lap, too, so just… just accept that, _bro."_

Last night's booze must still be having quite the effect on Ryan, because he hears himself groan and then say, "Okay. Whatever shuts you up, man."

"You want me to shut up?"

Shane _still_ sounds so amused, like it’s all a big joke, or at least something to be smug about. It’s a good thing Ryan can’t see the fond smile on his own face right now that popped up basically the second he heard Shane’s voice, or he may freak out.

Again.

"No, no. I mean, _yes_. I want you to shut up about _this_ , it’s, like, way too early in the morning to have a crisis."

"It’s 1pm. But sure. I’ll shut up."

"Hm-hmm."

"So, uh, want me to take your mind off things?"

Ryan has no idea what that means.

"I have no idea what that means."

"It’s a little unorthodox, but, uh, you know. _Take your mind off things_. You know, it’s a lazy morning… We haven’t really, you know. You haven’t been watching, you _just_ told me you couldn’t get it up with a girl the other day, so…" he trails off.

Ryan is silent for a second, letting everything sink in.

"Shane," he says, slowly, his voice as steady as he manages, which, admittedly, isn’t a lot, "are you _seriously_ offering to get me off on the phone right now?"

"…Yeah?"

His entire body itches and aches for _something_. He decides to not let it be this.

"Okay. Uh, I’ll politely decline, but thanks, I guess. See you on Monday, Shane."

"Sure! See ya, buddy."

Shane hangs up first, and Ryan just lays there for a few seconds, trying to process what the fuck just happened. He can’t believe Shane would just… say stuff like that, that he would even consider to offer something like that to _anyone_ , much less Ryan. What a fool he is to even think that _this_ , of all things, is something Ryan could ever want.

It’s just ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

It takes exactly two minutes and 17 seconds for his phone to buzz.

Not that Shane is anticipating it or anything.

He doesn’t have to read the name on the screen to know who’s calling.

"Hey, Ryan. What’s up?"

Ryan’s voice is small when he speaks, bordering on embarrassed. Though actually, that’s been his constant tone for the past week. "Hi, uh… Were you being serious just now?" Shane can picture him perfectly, laying there on his bed, his face flushed, probably chewing his lip raw.

"Oh, dead serious, 100%."

"Don’t fuck with me. If you’re… don’t make fun of me."

"I’m not. The offer stands. So."

"So." Ryan clears his throat and laughs nervously, which is just about the most unexpectedly cute sound Shane’s ever heard. "So, uh. How do you… How do you wanna do this? I’ve never… I don’t do this. Usually."

"There’s a lot of things you don’t _usually_ do, huh?"

Ryan is silent, which Shane takes as a cue to just get started.

"Come on, I need something to work with here. What are you wearing right now, Ryan? Give me the setting. The mood, you know. Or, wait, do you want me to talk about me? Get you out of your bedroom, get you into mine?"

"I, uh… Yeah, that’s cool.”

" _Cool_. Sure."

He’s not too keen on phone sex — he generally has it with guys he would never fuck in real life, and he always busies himself during it, trying to get through a particularly tricky Sudoku puzzle or silently flipping through Netflix, talking nonsense and getting bored by it while listening to some guy who paid way, way too much for this getting himself off. It’s easy money, but it’s not exactly _fun_.

This, though. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, and he’s certainly not gonna half-ass it.

And just imagining Ryan right now — sleepy and overwhelmed, a little disoriented, probably fidgeting with something out of nervousness, maybe the drawstrings of those fucking sweatpants he’s so fond of — gets him a little hot and bothered, ready to go wherever this conversation takes him.

"Alright. Well, about me… I’m just, you know. Just laying here, as I do. You’ve seen my bedroom. I’m wearing a shirt that I don’t know if it would make you laugh or run in the opposite direction. I can send you a pic, if you want."

"What… What else are you wearing, b-besides the shirt?"

Ryan’s words are clumsy, but there’s sincere curiosity there.

"Oh, like, my underwear?" Ryan hums his approval on the end of the line, "Well. I hate disappointing you, but they’re nothing you got for me. Bet you’d love that, huh? If I touched myself right now, wearing something you paid for. You want me to change? I could put on those pretty white ones, you know."

Ryan makes a soft sound. Could be an exhale, could be a moan. "It’s… fuck. It’s fine."

Shane can’t stop grinning. "Good. That’s good, ‘cause I’m pretty comfy right now. Kicked my blanket off and now I’m just laying here against my pillows. Thinking about you."

"About me?"

"Yeah. I wish you were here right now. I wish you could see me like this, Ryan. Are you touching yourself?"

"Oh, uh. N-not really." Ryan swallows audibly. “I could, though. I-I’m pretty ready to go, I guess."

Shane wets his lips. "You mean you’re hard for me?"

"Y-yeah."

"Say it."

"I’m… God, _Shane_. I’m hard for you."

"Good boy."

Ryan fucking whines at that — _God_ , he’s easy — and then, finally, Shane can hear a rustle of clothes on the end of the line, probably Ryan getting out of whatever has been restricting him. There’s a rumble, too, as if Ryan’s going through a drawer, clearly looking for something, and then the unmistakable uncapping of a lube bottle.

"Okay, okay, I’m here. Please, just…"

"Please what?"

"Don’t… don’t stop talking."

Shane smiles. "Okay. So, as I was saying, I’m just laying here. Close your eyes, you can see me, right? I mean, you’ve seen it so many times. I’m thinking about going through my drawer and getting something pretty inside me, or should I just use my fingers? What do you think, Ryan?"

 _"God_ , uh, hnng. Your fingers."

"You like that, huh?"

As opposed to his usual procedure when he gets guys off on the phone, he’s actually gonna do what he says — because this is special in a way he doesn’t really comprehend yet, and he’s also turned on beyond his own belief.

"I _really_ don’t wanna go through my drawer right now, so I’m just gonna use my spit, alright, baby?" Ryan makes a strangled noise at the pet name. Shane balances the phone between his ear and shoulder to get both his hands free and struggles his way out of his lace underwear. He gets two of his fingers into his mouth, sucks on them for way longer than he has to, makes an audible pop when he slides them out again. Ryan is quiet, as if he’s listening intently.

Well, he fucking better.

"I’m gonna get my fingers inside myself right now, okay? Well, I’ll try. You think I can do it? I mean, I don’t have lube or anything. What do you think?"

"I… Fuck, yeah. Yeah, you can do it."

"And why is that, huh?"

Ryan takes a deep breath, sounding more than just a little undone by all this. Good. "Because you’re a fucking slut, Shane."

Shane moans despite himself, his fingers circling his hole. He’s never witnessed Ryan like this and he’ll probably die if this is the only opportunity he gets to hear him like this. If he closes his eyes and listens closely, he can hear the wet slap of skin where Ryan is jerking himself off.

"Yeah, baby. I am." He whines a little when he pushes his fingers inside himself, the intrusion not something he isn’t used to, but still a lot, somehow, considering the circumstances. "You thinking about me?" he asks, like he doesn’t _know_ , and Ryan moans softly, a sound Shane is certain is going to keep him up at night for weeks. "Yeah. _Fuck_. I wish I could… wish I was there, Shane."

"Yeah? You wanna fuck me? You think I can take it?"

"I, hnng, yeah, _fuck_. I’m- I’m so close, Shane, I-"

He’s fucking himself in earnest now, as much as he can with the situation restricting his movements, scissoring his fingers inside himself and aching for more.

"Yeah? You’re gonna come for me? Come for me while you’re thinking about that dick in my pretty little ass, Ryan?"

If Ryan’s holding back, there’s no indication of it, he makes all those gutted little sounds when he finally breaks, and Shane barely has to get his own spit-slick hand around himself before he comes, too, following Ryan over the edge mere seconds later.

He just lays there for a minute or two, breathing heavily, before realizing his phone slipped and is now just laying there, disconnected from the call.

Maybe it happened automatically.

Maybe Ryan hung up.

It doesn’t really matter.

Shane’s still smiling.

 

* * *

 

Ryan is still trying to catch this breath when his phone chirps up again.

(2:12pm) **shane** : so that happened huh

(2:13pm) **You** : Guess you got a way with words.

(2:13pm) **shane** : <3

(2:13pm) **shane** : [Image Attachment]

(2:14pm) **You** : Christ. Wow

(2:14pm) **You** : Where would you even GET that

(2:15pm) **shane** : its custom made. with love

(2:16pm) **You** : I mean. It looks good on you.

(2:18pm) **You** : Dont wear that to the office tho

(2:20pm) **shane** : lol

(2:21pm) **shane** : dont forget to check out that insta post btw

(2:21pm) **shane** : dont wanna triple text but see you on monday :)

— 🎀 —

The picture is sitting at 3,877 likes and is, admittedly, cute.

Or _would_ be cute, whatever, if it wasn’t this.

As it exists in its current state, though, it’s a picture of himself in bad lighting, his face flushed and decorated by what Shane would call a shit-eating grin, his hair a little too messy. Shane’s in his lap like a naughty stripper (which, hey, he kind of is), his eyes closed because he’s the least photogenic drunk person Ryan has ever met besides himself, smiling wide. Ryan’s hands are on his hips, and maybe under his shirt a little.

They look really fucking drunk and really fucking happy.

 **@theteegeman** : This is what goes down at end of season parties, guys. _#whathappensatbuzzfeed #tikitime #ghoulboyz_

He doesn’t bother reading the comments, but he does double tap the picture before he closes the app for good.

3,878 likes. Whatever.

  

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: **porno** by arcade fire. probably one of my favorite songs ever.  
>  give the playlist a listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=34GIZ1iCTYOGEsMiTfWN4A), if you like good music, or just wanna stare at that drawing of shane for a little more.


	4. kind of buzz that lasts for days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a blush high in Ryan’s cheeks, and Shane can’t wait to take him apart.
> 
> There’s a time and place for that, though, and it’s not in some seedy hotel room with the wallpaper peeling off, the presence of Ryan’s freshly spilled heart all over the room.

_Open_ _Clip_28_Full_HD.mp4?_

See, Ryan’s definitely not — for lack of a better word — relapsing or anything. Everything is perfectly fine. This is nothing but an exercise in endurance.

He’s not viewing live, hasn’t done so in weeks, not since he found out, so this doesn’t even count. No, instead, he’s watching one of the dozen or so videos he’d purchased off pink_princess92’s account back when he thought he was just some nameless pretty thing getting himself off for money. And God, he wishes so badly that he could _just go on_ pretending, but he really can’t.

He had tried, sure, had made it through two videos without getting off so far. He thought it’d be easier, sure, considering all that’s on screen is a faceless body. The problem is that suddenly, _everything_ about that faceless body is so obviously _Shane_ — from those slim, long fingers he’d seen wrapped around innumerable coffee cups, to his tiny wrists and his generally scrawny frame, down to those long, long legs Ryan had made fun of countless times.

(And those pretty, pink lips he was still pretending he hadn’t noticed on Shane’s face way before and absolutely didn’t stare at every time they interacted.)

The guy on screen lets his fingers dart along the hem of his tennis skirt, teasing his lonely audience. He can’t even _see_ his face here, can’t see it in any of these videos, but all Ryan can think about is what he must look like right now. It’s torturous, the fact that he now has a face to all this. And curse his imagination for being good enough that when the guy on screen hikes his skirt up a little to touch himself through his underwear, Ryan can practically see Shane close his eyes and bite his lip.

He’s wearing thigh highs in this one. Ryan’s cursor hovers over the little X in the corner, _considering_ , before he curses under his breath and sets the video to fullscreen instead, leaning back in his chair and pulling down his zipper.

Ryan is so, so fucked.

Because unknowingly jacking off to his coworker while telling himself he was 100% straight was… excusable, sure, whatever. Not much different than jacking off to straight porn and accidentally coming while the focus was on the guy instead of the girl. Something like that. Absolutely normal. Pretty hetero. Could happen to anyone.

But _knowingly_ doing it and not even being able to pretend that it wasn’t Shane he was getting off to was… something else. Definitely someplace further up the Kinsey scale, not that he’d spent quite some time feverishly staring at that one, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him.

Having phone sex with Shane a few weeks ago was on a whole other level — a solid 6, probably — but he’s semi-successfully trying to repress that experience, mostly because every memory of what Shane actually sounds like moaning Ryan’s name makes him feel like he’s going to light on fire.

Or maybe dial Shane’s number again to ask for another round.

He’s not sure which variable would be worse.

The guy on screen is touching himself more eagerly now, skirt hiked up around his tiny waist, hand grabbing at his dick through his underwear. They’re satin. Or silk, maybe, Ryan’s not entirely sure there’s even a difference.

All he knows is that the little dark spot at the front where the guy’s — where _Shane’s_ — dick is damp with precum and straining against the fabric is making his fucking mouth water.

He makes sure to turn his ass to the camera when he works his underwear down off his hips, revealing the soft, pale curve of it, a careless hand pulling at one of his cheeks to reveal a flash of pink glitter: a heartshaped, crystal buttplug.

Ryan is pretty sure he’s going to have a heart attack.

It would be a way to go for sure — with his dick in his hand and the filthiest thing in town on his screen — and hell, at least he’d die doing something that he loved.

He doesn’t even have it in him to feel guilty or defeated when he comes all over himself a few minutes later, right as the Shane on screen gets a third finger inside himself, whining with his dick leaking sweetness all over those pretty white sheets.

He momentarily realizes, when he’s cleaning himself up, catching his breath, that they’re on location the next weekend, he’s gonna be all alone with Shane for the first time since everything happened and, Christ alive.

Ryan is so, _so_ fucked.

— 🎀 —

So he’s back to square one, basically.

His original plan when he first started out watching pink_princess92 and realized he couldn’t stop was to just go out and fuck a random guy, get it over with.

The problem was that he had no desire to do this, because the only guy he wanted to actually fuck was the faceless baby-pink dream on his screen. And barely a guy at all with all his prettiness, those girly fucking clothes and his gorgeous ass, dainty and feminine and obviously nowhere to be found.

Except then he _did_ find him, but he’s pretty sure there’s something in the Bro Code — a line or two, definitely — that opposes fucking your best friend in the ass because he’s beautiful but being gay is kind of scary and you wanna go back to thinking about women instead.

But also, Shane had made obvious advances towards him. Had sat on his lap. Had worn things Ryan had sent him, despite knowing Ryan had sent them. Had _phone sex_ with him. Had basically outright _told_ him, out of breath and fucking himself with his spit-slick fingers, that he wanted Ryan to fuck him.

...So if he puts 2 + 2 together, the guy Ryan wants to — no, no, _needs_ to, this isn’t a matter of desire at all, it’s just about getting this out of his brain — fuck wants Ryan to fuck him, too.

Alright.

 

* * *

 

"Can I just say something?"

They’re at the Hollywood Roosevelt tonight. A traffic jam and a delayed flight had led to them only arriving way past midnight, with most official personnel already asleep and their filming scheduled to the following night instead.

Everyone is annoyed, and rightfully so — nobody wants to stay in a hotel when they could be in their own bed instead, especially not the exact room where some ghost is said to be playing the trumpet all night.

Not that Shane believes in that.

"Sure. Shoot. But make it quick, I’m about to fall asleep."

He’s wide awake, actually, intrigued by whatever Ryan has to say.

"Okay. I _hate_ this fucking place, Shane."

He snorts at that, can’t help it — it’s deadpan and exhausted and so endearingly _Ryan_. When Shane dares to glance at him, he’s smiling, looking weary but content.

"Really? I think it’s quite charming here. You wanna go look for Marilyn? Think she’s actually in that mirror downstairs?"

Ryan runs a hand over his face. "Screw you."

"Oh, you wish."

It’s out before he thinks about it, it’s his go-to-reply and intended as a joke, but Ryan inhales sharply, the room falling silent. For a hot minute, Shane thinks Ryan may dart out the room and spend the night with his undead, imaginary friends instead, but he just sits there, slowly shaking his head and smiling to himself before he gets up to go brush his teeth.

Oh.

— 🎀 —

"Hey, uh, Shane?"

"Yeah."

Ryan clears his throat behind him, sheets rustling. Shane’s with his back to him on the bed, but he can feel Ryan’s eyes burning into his spine, practically picking apart his disks.

Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, that Ryan’s staring at him in the dark.

"I just… Thanks for… you know. Giving me time with it? You know what. And not really rubbing it in, or whatever. I mean, you did, a little, but not in a mean way, and I’ve… just been really confused lately, and whatever you’ve been doing has… I just feel like I’m figuring it out, is all."

Part of Shane wants to do what he does best in these situations — feign ignorance to get Ryan to say the words out loud, maybe be snarky enough to make him say, _I’ve just been trying to figure out whether I consider myself gay enough to fuck you_ or something akin to that — but he just says, "Yeah. Sure." instead, hears Ryan exhale in relief.

They’re on a double bed right now and if Shane turned around and reached out to him, he’s not sure Ryan would move away.

He doesn’t really know what to do with that.

"It’s nothing. Take your time, you know,” he says, into the darkness, "Figure it out."

"F-figure it out. Yeah, that’s what I… I-I don’t really know how."

"Want me to draw you a diagram?"

Ryan laughs, a pained little sound. "No, I… I’m good on that front. I think."

6 months ago and he would’ve added a swift _No homo!_ at the end of every sentence. If they were in switched positions, Shane would pat him on the back.

"Great. So where’s the issue?"

"I, uh… kinda… God, this is the worst. I, um. Guess the only guy I’d ever wanna try it with is someone I’m super close with. It’s kinda, you know. You. So. That’s the issue. O-of sorts."

Shane lets it sink in, lays in the dark for a beat or two.

He wonders what Ryan would do if he turned on his bedside lamp and turned around to face him right now, looked right at him, so that’s exactly what he does, getting a little tangled in his sheets.

Ryan, as expected, is staring, his eyes wide, his hair sticking up.

He looks so _lost_.

Shane considers, briefly. What it would be like to get his hands on him right now, make him lose his mind with his mouth alone, give those wailing ghosts in the halls a run for their money.

Except he kind of feels like Ryan wouldn’t dare to make a sound, scared shitless as he is, cut from the same cloth as every other man who staggers home to his wife and kids after emptying his balls into a willing stomach.

Shane could. He really fucking could.

There’s no fun in that, though, treating Ryan like every other supposedly straight guy he’s ever sucked off and never talked to again, so he does himself and his biggest fan the favor of just letting the moment go by.

After a minute or so passes, Ryan blinks, slowly. "W-we should go to sleep, probably."

Shane nods. There’s a blush high in Ryan’s cheeks, and Shane can’t wait to take him apart.

There’s a time and place for that, though, and it’s not in some seedy hotel room with the wallpaper peeling off, the presence of Ryan’s freshly spilled heart all over the room.

Back home, maybe.

Back home.

"Goodnight, Ryan."

— 🎀 —

If Ryan looks extremely out of it on camera the next day, hell.

It just makes for a better episode, doesn’t it?

 

* * *

 

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* * *

  

(2:15pm) **You** : great new username.

The little three dots that indicate the other person is typing pop up almost immediately. Like Ryan’s been waiting for Shane to text him.

(2:16pm) **Ryan:** Omg shut up Shane LakersFan2 was taken for some reason

(2:16pm) **Ryan:** And I couldnt remember the password to get into LakersFan1 again

(2:17pm) **You** : sure.

(2:49pm) **You** : ...soooo? whats up

(2:58pm) **Ryan** : Its just… what I said the other day. Its really stupid

(2:59pm) **Ryan** : Like. forget about it. I mean… banging my best bro to get over wanting to bang my best bro is probably the stupidest idea anyone has ever had. Like EVER.

(3:12pm) **You** : oh absolutely

(3:12pm) **You** : what about paying 50 bucks a month to see something you could see for free

(3:15pm) **Ryan** : Also pretty stupid. Im starting to think Im just a guy who makes stupid decisions

(3:16pm) **You** : yeah. good choice in friends tho

(3:17pm) **Ryan** : B)

Shane’s heart is beating way too fucking fast for such a straight fucking emoticon.

(3:20pm) **You** : u wanna maybe talk on the phone about this?

(3:22pm) **Ryan:** ohh NOT FALLING FOR THAT ONE AGAIN!

(3:22pm) **Ryan:** Im kidding ;)

(3:22pm) **Ryan:** Really dont know what to do though. Im glad nothing happened the other night. Feel like it would fuck up our friendship maybe.

He’s so, so close to getting it.

He just needs a little push.

(3:22pm) **You** : i mean. lets be real ryan. its already sorta fucked up. i mean im literally wearing a crop top you bought me and ive heard you cum so like

(3:23pm) **You** :...im not going anywhere, is what im saying.

Ryan seems to be typing the whole several minutes it takes him so send his reply, but what Shane receives is pretty short.

(3:28pm) **Ryan:** I miss you.

Shane’s hands are shaking as he types his reply, but Ryan will never know.

(3:30pm) **You:** ryan?

(3:30pm) **You:** what exactly is stopping you from being really fucking stupid and coming over here right now

 

* * *

 

 (3:30pm) **Shane:** what exactly is stopping you from being really fucking stupid and coming over here right now

He stares at his phone for what feels like an endless, endless time.

Yeah.

What’s stopping him?

~~A million things.~~

_What’s stopping him?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: **nancy boy** by placebo.  
>  fic playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=34GIZ1iCTYOGEsMiTfWN4A). 
> 
> thank you, as always, for your comments, kudos, and general encouragement. ☺


	5. what exactly do you do for an encore?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He swallows, fidgeting with the car keys in his hand. Raindrops slither down the window, the sky dark and ominous with heavy clouds, and he thinks, considers. He breathes in, breathes out, heartbeat somewhere between steady and panicky, turns the radio on, turns it off again.
> 
> Fuck it. He _knows_ he'll be alright and back to normal after this. 
> 
> He just needs to make sure.

(3:41pm) **You** : Fuck.

(3:42pm) **You** : Uh

(4:21pm) **You** : Were you being serious btw cause I just took a shower. I could be omw in like 5 minutes?

(4:22pm) **You** : Also Im uh panicking I think. But like, in a horny way

(4:23pm) **shane** : lmao

(4:23pm) **shane** : do you want a beer

(4:24pm) **You** : Hell yeah

(4:24pm) **You** : See you in 20?

(4:25pm) **shane** : 20???! don't drive like a fucking madman for some ass ryan. its raining.

(4:25pm) **shane** : c u in 30

(4:26pm) **You** : Ok ok

— 🎀 —

There's parts of him — or rather, giant chunks — that just want to run back inside.

He could, that's what makes it so tempting. There'd be no repercussions, or at least, less repercussions than if he actually went through with this.

Because as much as people call him brave for facing what he fears on their show, as brave as he _feels_ sometimes — maybe he's just a coward when it comes to this, and he might as well stay true to himself.

It would be comforting to just spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening in bed, jerking off a couple times to something he decided he would never have. It would be easy.

But he knows — God, he just _knows_ — that the ache inside him, that itch he can't reach, wouldn't simply go away. He'd lose his mind, probably, and wake up in 40 years next to an unsuspecting wife from a pink-tinged nightmare and think back on the Brief Sexuality Crisis in his late 20s, maybe have a mental breakdown because he never had _confirmation_ that he didn't like it, and that's why he's a messed up old man now.

He swallows, fidgeting with the car keys in his hand. Raindrops slither down the window, the sky dark and ominous with heavy clouds, and he thinks, _considers_. He breathes in, breathes out, heartbeat somewhere between steady and panicky, turns the radio on, turns it off again.

Fuck it. He _knows_ he'll be alright and back to normal after this. He just needs to make sure.

 _Still_ , going back inside would be the easiest thing in the world. He wouldn't even have to explain himself. Shane would understand, because Shane—

...Shane just gets him.

Ryan starts the car.

 

* * *

 

30 minutes are just enough to get himself cleaned up, freak out a little, pick something pretty to wear, freak out a little more, realize he probably can't just open the door in his underwear, throw on a more casual outfit on top, and _try not to freak out._

It's been months since he realized this might be something that would happen at one point and suddenly, everything feels very, very imminent.

His doorbell rings 27 minutes after Ryan sent his last text and before Shane's decided on a decent one-liner for when he opens the door, and that's a real pity. Ryan deserves way better than, "Hey! You look like you've seen a ghost," and the death stare Shane receives for it is well-deserved.

Ryan also looks a little amused, though, and Shane figures that's a good thing, that the little twinkle in his eyes hasn't gone away.

He's a little rained on from the short walk from his car to Shane's doorstep, which is immensely distracting — his hair is messy and damp, single strands of it sticking up. It's… cute, is what it is, but instead of staring at it, Shane occupies himself by grabbing Ryan's soaked-through jacket from his hands and hanging it over the radiator to dry.

It gives him enough distance to take a proper breath, too.

Ryan's here.

Ryan's here, and something may happen, and it will change everything.

Or nothing will happen, and that will change everything, too.

Neither of them are coming out of this unscathed.

Ryan looks lost. He clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Shane.

"So, uh. Beer?"

Shane smiles. He's not sure it reaches his eyes. "I'll be right back."

— 🎀 —

They settle into the living room, their cold ones in hand, and there's a familiarity to it.

It's something they used to do a lot — just hang out, watch a movie or two, have a few drinks, and then getting a drive home. Way before everything, when being around each other didn't feel so fucking _awkward,_  with simultaneously too little to say and too much to talk about.

It's odd, 'cause this here doesn't feel like taking a guy home, either. It's still very obviously _Ryan_  who's here, except Ryan came over to get his dick in him, and Shane needs to seriously stop thinking about that right now before he does something stupid.

He doesn't know what to do with his hands when they're sitting on the couch like this, so close their thighs could touch. (They very deliberately _don't_ , but when Shane inches a little closer, Ryan doesn't move away.)

"So," Ryan says, not really looking at him and instead focusing on the Nuka Cola poster on Shane's wall. "Weird, huh."

Observational as always.

"You can say that again," Shane muses, and then, when Ryan just gulps down more of his beer, still not really looking at him save for the occasional glance, he sighs. "Ryan, you know, we don't have to… do anything. Like, we both know what you're here for, but we can just… I don't know. Order some food. See where the evening goes. I don't want you to think we can't just hang out like we used to."

Ryan takes another sip of his beer, obviously pondering.

"Food sounds good," he says, after a beat, and he smiles.

They spend the next few minutes arguing about which place makes the best pizza around here (and Shane should kick him out for even insinuating that Pizza Hut's deep dish is in any way an acceptable choice of food, the heathen) before settling for Chinese, Ryan coming closer than necessary when he peers over Shane's shoulder to pick his order.

Shane puts his phone down after everything is paid for, clears his throat. "So," he says, trying not to be hyper-aware of how awkward the situation is, scooting back on the couch a little and picking up the remote, "they'll be here in half an hour. You wanna start a movie or maybe watch an episode of—"

And Ryan, the idiot, _kisses_ him.

Shane can't help it — he makes a noise, one of surprise and utter confusion mostly, but Ryan must mistake it for something else because he immediately creates distance between them again, his breath unsteady, eyes flicking from Shane's own down to his lips.

"Sorry, that was stupid," he blurts out.

Shane's never seen him so terrified, haunted houses and cursed bridges included.

He hasn't moved, and they're still very, very close. Shane has no idea what to do here besides tell him there's no need to apologize for _anything_. He doesn't know if he trusts himself enough to form words right now, though, so he drops the remote and occupies his mouth with something else, presses his lips right back to Ryan's, just because he can.

It's a bit more spectacular this time around, mostly because after a few blank seconds, Ryan starts to kiss him back, albeit tentatively. Shane obligates himself to pick up the slack, presses forward and coaxes until Ryan opens his mouth against his. He tastes like beer and, faintly, of toothpaste, like he brushed his teeth before he got here. Something in Shane hurts, and he slides a hand under Ryan's shirt, looking for contact, wondering how much he can get away with before Ryan bails on him.

"C'mon," he hears himself say, words muffled because he's saying them against Ryan's lips, "let's do this."

When Ryan's dam breaks, it breaks hard.

He makes a frustrated little noise in his throat and then Shane's shoved down hard back onto his couch, landing with a muffled little sound that Ryan smothers on his lips when he climbs on top of him, pins him down with his thighs.

"Ryan." Shane says, his own voice sounding whiny in his ears, and Ryan just nods, heavy on top of him, staring at him like he's seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time ever.

He might as well be.

Shane really didn't think kissing was on the table. Straight guys don't kiss, that's a general rule, and in the rare instance that they do, they're bruising kisses, never not accompanied by a hand around his wrist, around his throat.

Ryan's hands are soft on him.

He kisses like he has something to lose.

 

* * *

 

He can't tell if it happens after two minutes or half an hour of making out but at one point, somehow, one of them hauls them both into a position that is bipedal enough for them to make their way to the front hallway and then Shane's pressed to the wall and Ryan, on his tiptoes, has got a hand in his hair, pulling tenderly but with intent, testing the waters, seeing how rough he can handle him.

They're not so much kissing anymore as they are mouthing and panting at each other as they grind and grope, all that built-up desperation accumulating and resulting in the press of Ryan's hips against Shane's.

"Shit," Shane cusses. "No, no, not like this, c'mon, Ryan, bedroom."

Shane's hands slide up underneath his shirt again. They feel like branding irons on his stomach, burning fingerprints into him so that anyone with eyes can see that Ryan's ruined for life.

He finds that he doesn't care that much, not right now. Maybe in an hour or two, when he's doing the walk of shame to his car.

Right now, he's Shane's alone.

They somehow manage to stumble their way into Shane's bedroom without any minor injuries, despite the fact that neither of them are looking anywhere but at each other.

Shane's doorbell rings the second the door falls shut behind them, and Shane snorts, a sound Ryan decides could only ever sound endearing from his mouth and his mouth alone. "Should I get—", he starts and Shane whines, wraps his hand around Ryan's wrist to make him stay, as if there ever was any real intention to leave. "Fuck, just… just leave it. I paid in advance, he'll leave the food by the door, we can get it when we're—"

 _When we're done._ Ryan pulls him in to shut him up, not willing to think about the distant future, because if he does, he might run out and never come back.

"Can I… I wanna…"

He tugs at the hem of Shane's shirt and Shane rolls his eyes, fond rather than annoyed, which Ryan takes as a yes.

Shane gets a little tangled in his shirt when Ryan tries to get it off in one smooth motion, but it's fine, because once it's discarded on the floor, his face is flushed and pretty and he laughs into the kiss when Ryan walks him back against the bed.

His entire body aches with want.

"I know this is like… your first time doing this," Shane says, sitting down on the edge of his bed, interrupting Ryan's oncoming totally-not-a-virgin-speech with a pointed look, and Ryan gets it, he really does, "so if you want, you could, you know. Watch while I get myself ready."

Ryan wants.

Anything, at this point, he'd probably get on his knees and pray right now if Shane told him to, but _this_ , especially… he wants.

And if he stutters a little when he says, "Y-yeah, sure, awesome," then so be it.

— 🎀 —

On his way here, there was a voice inside his head that told him that maybe it wouldn't be so glamorous off-screen, that it could even be gross, uncomfortable, that the real thing might never come close to whatever version of Shane Ryan had dreamt up, and maybe they wouldn't even get as far as fucking.

If Ryan had a single functioning brain cell left inside of him, he'd be laughing at the memory. Right now, though, there's no car, there's no past, there's no _Ryan_. There's only Shane, propped up against his headboard, his bed the center of the universe. He's only an arm's reach away.

"Here's what I usually do," Shane starts, and it makes him laugh against his will.

"You're gonna do a whole tutorial?"

Shane narrows his eyes, but he's smirking, his face still a little flushed from kissing, or maybe just Ryan's presence in the room. "Maybe I am," he muses, digging around in his drawer for something, "so shut up."

Ryan opens his mouth to reply something smart, but he closes it immediately once Shane's produced a pink bottle of KY and a condom from his drawer, sets both items down on top of his nightstand.

He sits up to take his jeans off, struggling a little with how tight they are, but then they're gone, abandoned on his floor and Ryan can see that familiar body in all its familiar glory.

God, he's fucking pretty.

His legs are so long, and Ryan doesn't know if Shane shaves or waxes, but he knows that there's not a single hair where he doesn't want it, his skin smooth and pale. He can hear himself swallow, sees himself reach out without thinking, putting a hand on Shane's bony shin, his touch shallow and hesitant.

"C-can I..." he stutters, practically forcing himself to look away from Shane's lower body to seek permission with his eyes, and Shane nods, his face flushed. "You can touch me," he says, voice low, "you can do whatever. It's what you're here for, Ryan."

Alright. He lets his hand run higher, over his knee, and Shane's legs fall open once Ryan reaches his thigh. He shivers, and Ryan's so hard in his jeans that it physically hurts.

Three more inches upwards with his palm and he'll be touching the lace of Shane's underwear.

They're white today. There's something almost virginal them, and he wonders, briefly, if Shane picked them on purpose, before realizing that yes, of course he did — he's not sure there's _anything_ here that isn't deliberate, every movement and gesture of his absolutely calculated to make Ryan lose his mind.

It's working pretty fucking well so far.

Shane is hard, his dick straining against the fabric, Ryan can see that too.

His voice is almost raspy when he speaks. "You should. Get on with it. Not to get it over with or something, but I... I gotta see you. Please."

Shane nods, and there's no air left in the room when he raises his hips to slide his underwear off of them, and then he's turning around, getting on his hands and knees for Ryan, showing him what he came here for.

He wonders if the world would end if he stopped staring at him right now, but he's not about to find out. No, he's taking everything in, memorizing every single shade he sees so he never forgets what that pretty pink looks like without a screen falsifying the real color.

Shane's wearing a plug again, because of course he fucking is, and Ryan swallows, hard. Shane must hear it, the corner of his mouth curving upwards as he uncaps the lube, still smiling when he squirts some into his hand, coating his fingers in it, still smiling when his slim fingers find the flared base of the toy.

Still smiling when he plays with it a little, and Ryan doesn't know if he's doing it for his own enjoyment or rather to tease Ryan, and he finds that he doesn't care.

The whine Shane makes when he pulls the toy out will haunt him for fucking life.

Ryan knows they can't mess around here for much longer. He's so hard it almost hurts, all that pent up frustration making him seriously worried he might shoot off into his pants if he doesn't touch Shane soon. But Shane must realize that as well, 'cause he spends no more time teasing — he gets two slim fingers inside his slick little hole almost immediately, a desperate noise wrenching from his throat as he fucks himself with them for a few seconds before adding a third, hungry for it.

He sounds so much better without the static of his microphone.

Ryan wants to tell him how perfect and pink and pretty he looks spreading open for his fingers, how he'll look even better spreading for Ryan's dick, but he can't be entirely sure those words won't come out jumbled and messy, so he says nothing at all, just stares at him until his vision is swimming at the edges.

Shane is fucking himself slow and deep, peeking over his shoulder to watch Ryan watch him, his mouth open when he whines Ryan's name.

"Y-yeah. What—"

"Please. You— you gotta—"

Ryan scrambles to get up, almost falls flat on his face when he swings his legs out of the bed to be able to take his pants off better, feeling dizzy, his bones liquified, his chest aflame.

He's… doing this.

He's doing this and the most surprising thing is that he doesn't feel bad about it, everything clouded by how perfect and pink Shane is, the promise of how he must feel inside.

When he looks at him again, he's on his back, looking almost shy, despite his spread legs, despite his dick, heavy and hard in his hand, despite everything.

"Ryan I… I know this is a lot, but can I see your face?"

And thank fuck Shane asked, because Ryan had no clue how to bring it up.

He nods, and Shane smiles again, all sweet like he's not tearing him apart inside.

"H-how do you… What should I..."

Shane sits up. "You could fuck me like this. Or I could… I could get on top."

_Fuck._

"...Can I go ahead and take that expression as a yes?"

"Y-yeah. I… _Please_."

Everything after that is a rush — Shane's hands on him, pressing him down onto the mattress and then Shane above him, fingers at his waistband, rolling his eyes because Ryan took his pants off but not his underwear, Ryan trying to come up with a joke about presents and Shane kissing him to shut him up, Shane getting the condom on him with shaking fingers.

And yeah, maybe Ryan starts to babble a little bit when Shane gets a spit-slick hand around his dick, tosses a leg over Ryan's hips, straddling him.

"You alright?" he asks, looking right into Ryan's eyes and Ryan knows this is his last chance, that Shane is granting him one last opportunity to say no to this and run.

Quite frankly, he'd rather die.

He nods and Shane grins, and when he rolls his hips and eases down in one slow, steady, torturous push, opening up to let Ryan in, Ryan's pretty sure he doesn't want to do anything else for the rest of forever.

He's so fucking tight. If it were anyone else, he'd ask if they're okay, because this can't possibly _not_ hurt a little, but it's _Shane_ — this is deliberate, Shane wants to feel him, and really, Ryan kinda gets it.

He's surprised by how steady he manages his voice to sound when he takes hold of Shane's hips, says his name like a prayer. Shane's lids flutter, eyes rolling back. He's so warm on the inside, warm and smooth like velvet and Ryan thrusts up into him, experimentally, Shane's breath hitching in his throat.

"Good?" he asks, genuinely curious if what he's doing is in any way right and Shane chokes on a laugh, his eyes squeezed tight. "Yeah. Fuck. Let me..."

Shane opens his eyes. He rolls his hips on top of him, one hand planted solidly on Ryan's chest to steady himself as he rocks down on his dick somewhat purposefully. Ryan doesn't know what he's searching _for_ _,_ exactly — he's not really educated enough in the ways of gay sex to really grasp what's going on here, but he knows when Shane finds it because his fingers splay and clench into the meat of Ryan's stomach so hard it hurts and Shane outright _mewls._

Shane's so fucking _whiny_. It's not like he didn't know that particular detail about him, but it still takes his breath away — that he's the one actually getting these sounds out of him.

"You're so fucking pretty," he hears himself say, and then, softly, hand squeezing his hip, "Baby girl."

Shane moans, a choked-off, gorgeous sound as he works himself on Ryan's dick, and Ryan thanks whatever washed-up past version of him that sold his soul to the fucking devil so that he could be the one to experience that sound.

He'd sell his own soul right now if it meant he could hear it forever.

His brain is nothing anymore but frantic thoughts, his coherency left at the doorstep an hour ago, his vocabulary reduced to two-syllable words, _baby_ and _pretty_ and _gorgeous._

He can't possibly last long like this. He'd fuck Shane forever if he could, is a stray observation his brain makes along the way, but he just _can't._ There's too much: Shane's weight on top of him, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. His own hands on Shane's slim hips, leaving bruises in their wake with how hard he's holding onto him, and at last, the impossible tightness of Shane himself, clenching around him every time Ryan makes a breathy little sound because he knows exactly how to make him lose his mind.

Another thought forms inside of him, sudden, itchy and undefiable.

_This is all his._

Because, sure, other people have seen Shane like this — probably more people than Ryan wants to ever know — but in this moment, he's sure they _haven't_. Not really, not like this. Not with Shane smiling at him when he finds Ryan's gaze and holds it, his movements shakier than he probably wants them to be while he's bearing down on his dick. Not with his hand, moving from Ryan's chest over his head and then in his hair when Shane leans down to kiss him again, his fingers tacky with lube, getting it all over him. Not with the way he sighs Ryan's name, the inside of his lips catch-dragging over Ryan's in the bare millimeters between them.

_Nobody else will ever have this._

Ryan closes his eyes and comes, gasping, fingers clutched into Shane's hips, fucking up into him like he never wants to leave again.

Shane is close, Ryan can tell, from those choked little sounds he's making to how hard he is, and he's right _there._ He doesn't even think twice before he spits into his own hand and wraps it around Shane's dick, forcing a sound out of Shane's throat like he's been gutted, fucking up into Ryan's hand.

God, Ryan can't even form a coherent thought, but he wants to—

The words are out of his mouth before he's even done thinking them, his voice breathless and broken and foreign in his own ears. "I wanna suck you off."

Oh.

"Oh."

 

* * *

 

Look, Shane's been around. He's gotten some terrific head in his day, and given even more terrific head. (Not to brag, obviously.) Safe to say, there's certainly an art to sucking dick — the careful tuck of teeth behind strained lips, the cupping of a tongue to accommodate the head of his dick.

There is _nothing_ on earth like the clumsy, artless way Ryan tries to get him off. His lips strain just to fit around the head, not used to the sensation at all, his teeth skating over the sensitive skin on the underside. It's unstudied and poorly done and Shane could blow his load just from this, from the way Ryan gags the slightest bit when Shane can't stop his hips from snapping up.

Ryan's not great at this, but why would he be? Shane doesn't need him to.

It's perfect in its own way, somehow.

The sensation of Ryan's mouth around him is already a lot to deal with, and Shane straight up keens when two of his fingers nudge against his still-slick hole, pressing in immediately without fucking around because they both know he can take it.

He tries to compose himself enough to get words out of him, twists his fingers in Ryan's hair and says, "Ryan, just a warning, but if you— _fuck_ , if you keep doing that, I'm gonna come in your mouth."

Ryan pulls off for a second, mouth open, spit-shiny and the perfect shade of pink. "Okay," he says, left hand wrapped around Shane's dick where his mouth won't fit. "Good."

And then, smiling, fucking his fingers into him again, "That's my girl."

_Fuck._

Whatever Ryan lacks in experience or rhythm, he certainly makes up for in unabashed enthusiasm, and Shane lets his head fall back when Ryan gets his lips around him again, pulling his hair a little harder this time. Ryan moans around him in response, leaning into the touch, an information Shane files away for...

...for next time, he thinks, frantically, because Ryan can't possibly believe he's walking out of that door the same man that walked in. He can fool a lot of people, but not Shane.

He lasts maybe 30 more seconds, and Ryan splutters and coughs when Shane comes, but he stays put, swallowing it all down to the last drop like a starving man.

"Gross," he comments after, letting go of Shane's softening dick to wipe his mouth, and Shane can't help but giggle, hums a response because he's not sure whatever he wants to say is something Ryan wants to hear right now. (It's a 50/50 between _It's really not that bad, you fucking wimp_ and _Please don't go.)_

They sit in silence for a moment, Ryan wiping both his hands on Shane's sheets. Motherfucker. He doesn't really move, though, still kneeling between Shane's spread thighs like he's found his new favorite place in the world.

"You good?" Shane hears himself ask after a while, and Ryan looks up, looking a little smug.

"I'm... good. It's weird. Really fucking weird. But good."

He's smiling, his lips wet and shiny, a visual that Shane thinks is gonna stay with him for a while.

"You wanna get that food? I'm starving."

"Hell yeah."

— 🎀 —

They eat their food in the living room over the pilot episode of Mindhunter, mostly in silence. Ryan's back in his clothes, which is a pity, but the events of the past two hours are all over his face. Shane wonders if he will ever be able to look at him the same way again.

"So. Drinks?" Ryan says, licking soy sauce off his fork and Shane's distracted, momentarily confused.

"Huh?"

"We never finished those beers, so..."

"Yeah, got a little off-track there, huh?"

Ryan blushes. "I guess."

Shane decides to go all in. There's nothing to lose anymore. "You sure you wanna drink? You gotta drive later. You know. Home."

"Yeah, uh, about that. Would you… would you mind if I… I mean, I brought my toothbrush anyways, so..." and then Ryan's shoving rice in his mouth to shut himself up, obviously embarrassed about whatever he just revealed.

Shane can't fucking _believe_ him. "...You brought your toothbrush."

"Yeah. It's in the car. I'll, uh, take the couch if it's no problem. It's a good couch."

Shane swallows around nothing, wonders if he can ask Ryan to sleep in bed with him instead, decides it's too much, maybe. This is already so much more than he wished for.

Better not risk that.

— 🎀 —

His alarm clock shows 1:15 when he climbs into bed, a little tipsy, his lips sore from kissing Ryan goodnight at his bedroom door.

His heart is so full it's heavy, and he wonders who he will wake up to.

If he will wake up to anyone at all.

— 🎀 —

His alarm clock shows 2:52 when his door creaks, footsteps approaching, softly, as if not to wake him. He blinks, delirious.

 _Considerate robber_ , he thinks, still half asleep, and then, _Ryan_.

A warm body behind him, an arm around him, a hand on his stomach.

He falls back asleep smiling.

— 🎀 —

His alarm clock shows 8:23 when he wakes up alone.

It's not a huge shock, not at all, really. It still makes his heart sink.

He knows he didn't dream it, he just knows — that half-asleep memory of Ryan's warm hand on him so vivid he has to check that there's no handprint there.

He stretches, still sleepy, wonders if he can cram in one more hour of sleep before having to face reality, but decides to grab his phone from the nightstand instead.

No texts, no calls.

Shane closes his eyes, considers whether he's pathetic enough for this, decides that he absolutely is, and opens the messenger app.

— 🎀 —

(8:31am) **You:** hi! hope you got home well. just wanted to tell you i don't regret this. i hope you don't, either. i'll see you on monday i guess?

(8:32am) **ryan:** Oh youre finally awake

(8:32am) **ryan:** Help me figure out your stupid coffee machine please !!!

(8:32am) **You:**...you're still here?

(8:33am)  **ryan:** Wait did you want me to go

(8:33am) **You:** NO! wait ill come out this is fucking ridiculous

— 🎀 —

Ryan's sitting shirtless at the kitchen table, his face sleepy-soft and caffeine-deprived.

Shane takes the mug that's sitting useless and empty in front of him and puts it under the coffee machine, working magic (pressing 2 buttons) and turning around to raise his brows at Ryan.

"Thanks," Ryan says, and then, very matter-of-fact and barely surprised, "You're wearing my shirt."

"Yeah."

He doesn't miss the way the corner of Ryan's mouth twitches.

Like he's trying not to smile.

 

* * *

 

They drink their coffee in a silence more comfortable than awkward.

Ryan brushed his teeth for 5 minutes last night and 10 minutes this morning and he's not sure he'll ever get Shane's taste out of his mouth.

He's not sure he even wants to.

A few months ago in a boardroom meeting, during a brainstorming session about future video ideas, someone — Matty, maybe, he doesn't recall, but it seems like a Matty thing to do — had raised his hand and gone up to the whiteboard and written down a simple equation.

_1 Ryan + 1 Shane = success!_

It was hilarious, sure. A real good joke, that one, except it hadn't really been a joke, or at the very least, a joke heavily rooted in reality — their statistics had shown that a video that had Shane and Ryan in it did exceptionally well. There was something about their dynamic that just seemed to work, pretty much everybody knew that.

The point here is, Ryan's never been great at math. Pretty much the opposite, really — he had almost failed the subject in high school. Multiple times.

So maybe — just maybe…

Maybe this is fine, is the thing.

When he clears his throat, Shane looks up at him, his hair messy from sleep, his glasses making him look young and vulnerable.

He's kind of really fucking gorgeous.

Ryan swallows.

"Hey. I… I've been thinking that maybe… You know. It's Saturday. I could, I don't know. Get some stuff from home and… and come back here. If that's okay. We could finish season 1. Or, you know. Go do something. Or just stay in. Whatever."

Shane fails miserably at trying not to grin, and Ryan wonders for a moment why he even attempts.

Ryan's seen so much of him already.

"You sure?"

Ryan nods, feels himself smile back.

He's sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: **this is hardcore** by pulp. i know there is an entire [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=V4VnmOvsRKON5_yjaiGv7Q) for this fic but if i had to pick _one_ singular song for it, this would be it. it's basically camboy!shane's whole id, and served as inspiration at parts. make of that what you will, i guess.
> 
> anyways. hey, i can't believe it's over! 
> 
> from the bottom of my tiny gay heart... thank you! ☺♡ thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, and thank you furthermore for commenting, subscribing, leaving kudos, or simply enjoying it. i hope you had at least half as much fun with this universe as i did. 
> 
> special thank yous go out to:  
> ♡ freddie — for not blocking me when i sent you a dm that simply said "camboy shane" a few months ago, and instead spinning this, uh, enlightening little tale with me. seriously, this wouldn't exist without you, and that absolute garbage fire of a playlist you made for it that actually started this whole thing. (it's mostly a curse, but it's also a blessing.)  
> ♡ elena — for being my worst enabler, always. also fuck you  
> ♡ val — for beta-ing and keeping my grammar crisp  
> ♡ julia — for enjoying this despite being a bottom!ryan truther
> 
> again, if you're reading this, thank you.
> 
> see you on the next one! ☺


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